


your mind is getting wasted

by Spencer_Grey



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Amnesia, Child Abuse, Concussions, Medical Inaccuracies, Physical Abuse, Post-Season/Series 01, Temporary Amnesia, We Die Like Men, give JJ a hug, i think, no editing, pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer_Grey/pseuds/Spencer_Grey
Summary: JJ's dad realises what happened to his favourite boat.(set immediately after episode 10)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	your mind is getting wasted

The sinking, familiar feeling of dread has completely taken over JJ’s body — his blood running cold and dry. The frigid night air mixed with the rain from the storm is nothing compared to his frozen figure.

He practically collapses into some hard plastic seat he’s guided into, distantly processing the movement of the cops around him.

But he always knows where his friends are — can feel their presence anywhere. Kiara sits at his right, gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles have turned white. Pope takes his left, pressing their legs together in a I-don’t-know-what-to-do kind of way. Endearing in any other situation.

JJ wishes he has the piece of mind to appreciate them both but there’s not even an inch in his head to spare.

He’s waiting for his heart to start again after the stupid cops tried to tell them John B and Sarah are dead. Which they’re absolutely not — JJ can feel it — but it’s better the feds don’t know that.

Just as he starts to think he’s breathing once more, Shoupe looks pitifully down at the kids — as if this isn’t his fault — and says, “You lot can go home, we’ll bring you in for questioning later.” He tries to meet JJ’s gaze but he refuses. “Your dad is on his way.”

And all hell erupts.

“No,” Pope and Kiara snap in unison.

Bile threatens to rise in JJ’s throat.

If possible Kie holds him tighter but he welcomes the pain, trying desperately to grip onto it and ground himself from the twisting fear in his gut.

Pope leaps to his feet, looking his dad dead in the eyes. “He can come home with us.”

Heyward looks ready to argue but Kiara interrupts, never leaving JJ’s side but is just as determined. “We don't even use the spare room, JJ can have it.”

JJ doesn’t exactly hear whatever their parents say in response, normally fading out whenever adults talk to him — it’s best not to hear the thinly veiled insults or outright degradation.

There’s something about “spending time apart” but it only makes it worse.

“Mom, please.” Kiara’s standing now, still holding onto JJ and her freshly dried tear-stained cheeks are burning with passion. A protective rage running through her veins.

Pope’s calm demeanour has been completely thrown out the window. He’s almost trembling even as his parents remain stiff and silent. There’s still an instinctive piece of JJ that’s aware enough to want to pull Pope back, to get between him and his parents — even though he knows, he knows they’re not like that.

JJ starts to curl in on himself, wrapping his free arm around his stomach. The bruises scattered across his skin haven’t even had a chance to begin healing yet, he realises -- wincing at the reminder.

He can’t tell what’s worse: the beating that’ll come after stealing his dad’s favourite boat or the waiting.

Waiting for his dad to arrive, waiting to see the fuming look in his eyes. Even after that drunk moment — his dad’s voice saying I love you still rings in JJ’s ears — it’ll mean nothing now.

But, really, JJ should be used to this now. If there’s one thing he can count on his dad for, surprisingly, is that he’ll come for JJ whenever he’s in trouble. Every time he got sent home from school for fighting, the occasional times he was pulled up by the cops after being caught stealing.

He’s sat in this same position — outside the principal’s office, inside the station — chewing on his bottom lip and just waiting.

It’s torture.

At least, there’s something he can do: calm down Kiara and Pope before they make things worse with their parents.

Every relationship is so strained they’re about the snap and JJ won’t be the cause of that shattering.

He squeezes Kiara’s hand back, knowing the slight movement would cause her to whip around to face him. It grabs Pope’s attention too and they settle back down next to JJ, eyes wide with concern and the heavy burden of knowledge.

“Don’t make things worse,” he mutters so only they’ll hear, keeping his eyes downcast from the line of adults before him. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not going back there,” Kie whispers back.

Pope says just as quietly, “Yeah, dude, he’s gonna kill you.”

“Thanks for the confidence,” JJ tries to joke but his voice is too worn, too pained to even pretend like he can brush this off.

“No, he’s right” — Kiara cups JJ’s cheek and physically forces him to look her in the eyes — “you can’t expect us to sit by and let it happen.”

JJ has to remind himself to breathe, the openness in her eyes makes him grateful he’s already sitting or he’d fall apart.

She’s shivering, he realises, skin raised in goosebumps. She seems as cold as she did when she and Pope finally managed to drag him from the hot tub, suddenly adjusting to the cool night air.

JJ remembers how they never quite talked about that. They simply dried him and put him to bed to sleep off the alcohol and mania.

He can see it now and knows Pope is thinking the same. But even JJ knows this is not the time.

“Just for tonight,” he says, trying his best to sound convincing. “Let things settle a bit.”

He used to be such a good liar.

“You said — ” Kie starts.

“I know what I said.”

I can’t take him anymore.

“But I promise, just tonight.”

I was gonna kill him.

Kiara drops her hand into her lap, letting him give Pope the same forced, tiny smile. JJ never liked lying to his friends — everyone else is fair game but not them.

Playing off how badly a bruise hurts is different than trying to pretend he won’t get trapped in that damn house again.

Neither Pope or Kiara know how to convince JJ not to do something this monumentally stupid. That is — was John B’s job.

“Hate to interrupt,” Heyward says, leaning a little too close into their space, “but, son, we’re leaving. It’s late.”

Pope shakes his head, refusing to back down even now. “Not until JJ’s dad gets here.”

“He‘ll be here soon,” Kiara’s mom says as she steps forward. “Kiara, let’s go.”

In response, both teenagers fold into JJ’s sides, not needing words to express their pure stubbornness. He isn’t sure whether he loves or hates it.

Either way, every adult shares the same look of disdain but remain quiet anyway — if the last few days have proven anything, it’s that the Pogues won’t give up on each other.

As soon turns into sixteen minutes and nine seconds — not that JJ is counting or anything like that — he burrows into a deep part of his mind where he doesn’t have to sit in painful anticipation.

Instead, JJ tried to imagine how far John B and Sarah have gotten. The storm would’ve knocked them off course, maybe they’ll wind up where the gold ended up. With four hundred million they could go full Kook, never worry about the Outer Banks again.

(Because they’re absolutely not dead)

Kie keeps rubbing circles with her thumb over JJ’s skin. What would be a comforting gesture is ruined by the nervous energy given by the speed. Pope’s leg is bouncing rapidly, shaking all their chairs. Somehow, JJ seems less scared than them.

Eventually, as if sensing his presence, the air grows dense with tension, and Luke Maybank storms into the quickly erected tent.

JJ’s spine stiffens instinctively. Every set of eyes being dragged onto the man. There’s a slight sway to him as he stands, one only JJ notices — the only one to have learned how to see it.

“Let’s go,” is all his dad says, his shirt still ripped open from when JJ stole the key for the Phantom.

JJ gets to his feet quickly, leaving Pope and Kiara to hover up uncomfortably.

Immediately, Kiara throws her arms around him — leaning onto the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “I love you. Just remember that, you’re loved.”

He holds her tightly, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck and just breaths her in. Things have been far too hectic to fully process any of it but in this moment, in the comfort of his best friend, JJ is finally allowed to crumble. All but melting into her touch, he lets go a second too late to pretend he isn’t shit scared.

The instant Kiara is gone from his hold, Pope takes her place. His calloused hands find their way into his hair, cupping the back of his head and gripping him as if he’ll be ripped from Pope’s grasp.

JJ’s the first to pull back, knowing that Pope would never let go otherwise, wanting nothing more than to wipe away the tears that are spilling over the other boy’s cheeks. But the weight of his dad’s gaze is drilling a hole in the back of JJ’s skull, and he doesn’t need to give him more reason to hate his son.

JJ pulls his signature smile -- the one that screams false confidence, the one he uses more than anything real. Glancing between Pope and Kiara, JJ almost second guesses himself.

There’s no doubt his dad would be put away -- he’s got the damn bruises to prove it.

And yet, JJ doesn’t say a word. Maybe it’s the years of threats that have shaped his mind. Maybe he’s just fucked up in too many ways.

Maybe he deserves it.

He gives no last look at Heyward or Kiara’s parents, all too sure that he’ll never be able to leave the sight of loving, genuine parents.

As he passes, Kiara holds his hand until he’s out of reach, and as their fingertips slip apart, JJ has never felt more alone.

With John B somewhere out at sea, and Pope and Kiara dealing with enough family issues to last a lifetime, JJ swallows his fear -- accepting his fate, knowing it’s his alone to face.

The swarm of cops and feds continue to float around, and JJ’s pretty sure he sees Ward being surrounded by armed guards, but it all fades to black as his dad’s truck nears.

There’s a temptation to just throw himself into the ocean waiting just a little ways away. Follow after John B.

JJ doesn’t. He climbs into the passenger seat. He can only think about how lucky he is that there’s no way his dad could hurt him right now -- he’ll wait until there’s not a cop for miles.

It at least gives him time.

His dad says nothing as he drives, pulling away from the busy scene eagerly to escape the sight of so many authorities.

The road seems to stretch for hours, the streetlights barely illuminating it all and with no light within the truck being on, it casts Luke in an eerie shadow.

JJ shuffles closer to his side of the truck, his gaze remaining before him even as his hand creeps for the door.

“You jump out this car and I’ll run your ass over,” his dad hisses, not even having to look over to know what JJ was planning.

And JJ wouldn’t put it past him. So his hands settle in his lap and he remains deathly still for the rest of the car ride.

It was for John B, he tells himself. It’s all worth it in the end because his best friend definitely escaped and that’s all that matters. JJ knew what he was doing when he offered to get the Phantom for him -- he knew what the aftermath would be, even if no one else thought twice about it.

For John B.

The least he can do, after everything that kid’s done for JJ. All the times he patched JJ up, let him sleep over, gave him food and clothes, refused to leave his side.

He repeats the mantra as his house appears like a monster in the darkness. He keeps it going even as he hears the sound of the front door closing and locking. And he won’t forget it, not even when his dad’s fist collides with his face.

\--

The first thing JJ notices as he comes to is the consistent throb of pain coming from his temple. Forcing his crusted eyes to open just a sliver and once he’s adjusted to the intense light, he realises he’s laid on the kitchen floor — the back door just an arms reach away.

Slowly, JJ manages to bring himself into a kneeling position. Blindly, he reaches for something stable, finding the kitchen bench and uses it to drag himself onto shaky legs.

He bites his lip but still, a grunt of pain escapes him. The throbbing quickly intensifies, resulting in a wave of dizziness to swallow him.

JJ, with the hand not holding him up, rubs at his eyes.

What the fuck happened?

A floorboard creaks behind him. JJ flinches back instinctively, stumbling over his own feet as his dad comes into view.

He holds the same cold stare, lip curled in disgust. He says nothing as he passes by JJ — the boy’s hazy memory starting to bleed into his grasp — and fishes out a beer from the fridge.

JJ’s entire body is tense, poised to run if needed. And he’s not even entirely sure why.

Obviously, he got a beating last night but as he tried to look closer at the distant memory, the more the pain in his head increases and the more his vision blurs.

“Clean that shit up,” his dad says bluntly, pointing at the bench — JJ sees his raw knuckles, seemingly taunting him.

Following his dad’s gaze, JJ’s eyes land on a small pool of crimson blood on the pointed corner of the bench. His dad leaves without another word, and not knowing what else to do, JJ finds the least dirty dish towel and wipes his own blood down.

It’s an all too familiar experience.

Once finished, he makes his way for the bathroom, locks the door behind him, and finally gets a good picture of himself.

Down the right side of his face is a trail of dried, dark blood. The source covered by the tangles of his hair.

JJ sighs. He’s been in this same position dozens of times throughout the years — and it’s pathetic that he ever thought he’d finally escaped this. That he could ever be free.

He should’ve killed his dad when he had the chance.

The thought replays in his mind as he wads up a bunch of toilet paper and begins to wipe away the blood — uncaring of how much it stings once he reaches the actual wound.

He has the piece of mind to recognise the well-known symptoms of a concussion as nausea creeps into his stomach. He tries to remember what he’s been told about how to deal with it, but only comes up with making it John B’s problem.

He settles for that.

There’s a bruise across his jaw and when he tries to lift his shirt, his muscles scream in protest. That tells him enough.

Another wave of pain crashes, sending him leaning forward. He almost slams into the mirror but manages to catch himself on the sink. JJ’s fingers dig into the porcelain so tight it could break.

Once it subsides, leaving a dull ringing in his ears, JJ takes a deep breath, composing himself the best he can.

As he leaves, his dad sits out the back and is none the wiser to JJ’s movements.

Even though the world seems to spin and tilt, and his vision can’t quite focus on anything, JJ takes his bike, forgoing the helmet, and brings it to life. He’s not known for his brilliant ideas and today is no different.

Keeping himself upright is a struggle, and steering is borderline impossible but his determination to get away from his house is stronger than either of that. So JJ keeps driving, the post-storm debris only creating further issues. But he manages.

The most direct route to John B’s has been etched into his memory since the third grade — the most stable part of his entire life, really. It’s more muscle memory than conscious choice that JJ drives with.

He’s not even halfway there when he has to pull over, the nausea growing too strong. JJ falls to his knees just in time as the miniscule contents of his stomach are forcibly expelled.

Well, shit. That doesn’t happen with his usual concussions.

Twisting cramps plague his abdomen, and when mixed with the pounding in his head, JJ is so unaware of his surroundings that he never notices a presence behind him until a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

He flinches but any fear is immediately subdued by a comforting familiar voice.

“JJ, what’s wrong?”

It’s Pope. His hand curls around JJ like it was designed for this very action, fingers digging into his skin like the only weight holding him to the Earth.

His mind, halfway between coherency and undiluted pain, latches onto the sight — letting him become relaxed.

Pope would never let anything hurt him.

Swallowing the last of the bile, JJ looks up at Pope. A quick glance behind him shows no vehicle or anything — he must have been walking.

“I’m - I’m fine,” JJ says and really, it’s not a lie. Having one of his best friends with him outweighs anything else.

Pope doesn’t seem to think so. “Where the hell are you going? I was just coming to see you.”

Huh. That strikes JJ as strange. Normally, everyone — including him — strays far from his house.

“I’m going to John B’s. Wanna come?” JJ asks, brushing aside the lingering remains of vomit on his lips as though nothing is wrong.

“Nah dude, the place is crawling with cops.”

JJ furrows his brow. “The hell he do this time?”

Pope’s face drops, fear and worry blatant in his expression. Without thinking, JJ brings his hand to hold the back of Pope’s neck, the action coming naturally to him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, not even bothering to hide how his own anxiety is increasing.

Pope reaches out, as if somehow sensing it and his fingers, although feather light, brush against the small cut across JJ’s skull. He hisses at the touch but allows it nonetheless.

“How bad does it hurt?” Pope presses harder against the wound, trying to get a better feel for the damage.

JJ swats his hand away. “It’s fine when you stop touching it.”

“Anything other than amnesia? Have you passed out? Are you tired?”

“Wait, amnesia?”

“You should really go to the hospital,” Pope continues.

“No, no, let’s go back a second.” JJ’s heart picks up. He’s trying not to let it show but Pope’s demeanour is starting to really scare him — whatever he’s thinking, JJ isn’t privy to. “What do you mean amnesia?”

Pope stands upright, bringing JJ with him. “Come on, let’s go back to my place. Dad’s not home so it’ll be fine.”

He leaves no room to argue and for once, JJ isn’t in the mood to even try. Pope lets JJ lean on him for the few short steps towards his bike. Pope's mere presence seems to be enough to subside the persistent pain long enough for JJ to climb on.

“You are so not driving,” Pope says sternly, gesturing for JJ to move.

JJ shoots him a look. “It’s my bike.”

“And you’re lucky to be conscious right now. Move.”

With a groan and rolling his eyes, JJ scoots back to give Pope room to sit. Neither say anything as JJ quickly wraps his arms around Pope’s abdomen, thankful to finally have a stable bearing.

The bike roars to life and they’re off.

Against himself, JJ ends up leaning his chin in the crook of Pope’s neck, his eyes slipping closed on their own accord.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Pope rapidly shakes his shoulder, jostling JJ. If they weren’t so close, JJ probably wouldn’t have heard him over the purr of the engine. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“Shit, uh, I don’t know. What always happens, I guess.”

Pope mutters something JJ can’t make out — more likely just talking to himself.

Louder, Pope says, “Okay, just don’t puke on me. Alright?”

“No promises.” JJ wishes that was a joke.

The bending corners as they drive to Pope’s house don’t help the never-ending headache or the urge to let what remains in his stomach spill over Pope’s back.

Throughout the ride, as if sensing each momentary lapse of consciousness, Pope shakes JJ harshly, or purposely drives into a pothole to wake him up. Each time, JJ grumbles in annoyance — refusing to think too much about why he’s slipping in and out so much.

He’s surprised there wasn’t more blood. Whatever he did to piss off his dad must have been really bad for him to slam JJ’s head so hard.

Eventually, Pope’s house comes into view and he pulls around the back. Pope flings himself off the bike quickly, coming to JJ’s side and wrapping an arm around his waist.

JJ scoffs. “I’m not a kid.”

“Yeah, whatever you say. Come on.”

JJ tries to roll his eyes as he gets off, only to find the action causes another wave of dizziness, and has to lean against Pope heavier than before.

A silent I told you so passes between them.

Slowly, Pope creaks open the back door. His head darts back and forth, listening out for anything but the house seems completely empty.

Doing his best not to stumble over his own feet, JJ still knows the path to Pope’s bedroom — having walked it hundreds of times.

Pope lowers JJ onto his bed, letting him shuffle until he’s resting against the headboard.

“I’m gonna call Kiara,” Pope says, already fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Don’t,” he weakly protests. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“She’ll want to know about this after everything that’s happened.”

“What even happened, dude. I know you’re not telling me something.”

Pope ignores him, holding his phone to his ear. “Yeah, Kie, you need to come over. I don’t know how, that’s your problem. No, look, it’s — yeah, he’s an idiot. Okay, see you soon.”

JJ glares at him — both annoyed and relieved that Kiara’s coming. While he doesn’t want to worry her, she always tells it how it is, never afraid to give the harsh truth. Which neither Pope or John B can do.

Pope either doesn’t notice or care. He settles on the edge of his bed and says, “Lift up your shirt.”

“Woah, coming on a little strong, don’t you think?”

Used to JJ trying to brush everything off, Pope doesn’t even blink. “You wince every time you move,” he states bluntly. “I’m not dumb.”

“Pope, I — ”

“Just for once, listen to me.”

There’s a sense of begging in Pope’s eyes that makes JJ’s usually quick-witted tongue stumble. The utter rawness of the look and slight quiver in his voice that anyone else wouldn’t have heard stops any lie, any attempt to shrug away the concern falls flat before they even reach his lips.

JJ is silently reminded of the hot tub, of the fact he can’t just pretend it never happened, that he doesn’t want to.

He wants to lay himself bare, surrender every shattered piece of himself in hopes that someone can put them back together. He just doesn’t know how to.

All he can do is nod wordlessly and do his best not to flinch from Pope’s touch.

Gingerly, Pope peels JJ’s shirt up, face full of remorse when the injured boy can’t help the groan of pain that escapes.

Pope sucks in a breath. JJ didn’t think it was possible but he’s found a more heart aching look on Pope’s face than that night in the hot tub.

His face contorts into a mix between distressed and pissed off — which tells JJ enough about the state of his body, not quite able to find the energy to look down.

The lingering bruises and the fresh ones are under the scrutiny of Pope’s darting eyes, taking in every inch, as if trying to commit it to memory.

“JJ,” is all Pope can say, breathless and unable to form proper sentences. But when his eyes finally leave his body and meet JJ’s gaze, it says enough.

“You know what’s funny? I - uh, I don’t even know what I did.” JJ gives a dry laugh, not even sure what he’s saying anymore, just letting his mouth run. “You know, there’s normally something. But I just - I can’t remember.” He points to the side of his head. “Must have been pretty bad.”

Pope is quiet for a moment, not quite sure what to say. “Are you sure you won’t go to hospital? What if you have like, brain damage or something?”

“You mean more than I already do? Nah, I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Knowing he won’t win in this fight, Pope doesn’t reply. He settles at the worn desk by his bed, sparking a memory in JJ’s mind.

“Wait, shit, you had your interview, right?” he asks, sitting straighter. “Are you gonna get another go at it?”

Pope’s gaze flickers to the floor for a moment before returning back to JJ. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it much.”

“Seriously? You haven’t shut up about it for months.”

Pope shoots him the same look — the one that says JJ is clearly missing something. And he gets the feeling he won’t know what it is until Kiara arrives.

“JJ,” Pope says solemnly, “what’s the last thing you remember.”

After a groan, JJ replies, “I don’t know, it makes my head hurt when I think about it.”

“Try.”

JJ opens his mouth to argue but whatever he seems to be missing, it’s weighing on Pope with a continuous sag to his shoulders. JJ’s seen it dozens of times before — when Pope’s pushing aside something big, whether he doesn’t want to bother the Pogues with it or he simply won’t admit he doesn’t know how to deal with it, in favour of focusing on something else. Usually JJ and his never ending supply of problems.

So JJ tries. His gaze lowers to the ground, eyes darting back and forth as he forces any kind of hazy memory to clear.

His head throbs and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and stop the dizziness that’s fighting to overtake him. After a moment — what feels like minutes to him but may only be seconds — he finally gets a single clear picture.

JJ bolts upright. “John B. I — I was getting dad’s boat for him so — holy fuck.” The words leave his lips as he thinks them, fear and panic seizing him in a tight grip. JJ, letting everything slip into his face, stares, wide eyed, at Pope. “Is he gone? Did he get away?”

Pope’s response, or lack thereof, tells JJ enough.

“They arrested him?”

Pope opens his mouth to answer, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes, when a series of rapid knocks interrupt him.

He glances at JJ one last time before leaving his bedroom to see who’s at the front door.

JJ hears Kiara’s pounding footsteps before he sees her, appearing in the threshold with red-rimmed eyes and what JJ thinks is one of John B’s old shirts. Her eyes sweep across his body, assessing him.

“Hey,” he says quietly, trying not to squirm under the weight of her gaze.

Kiara crosses the room in a few short strides, saying to Pope, who’s come up behind her, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Right here,” JJ mumbles.

Pope answers, “Concussion, memory loss I think.”

“Oh, fucking great.” Sarcasm drips from her tone like poison, her whole demeanour from a heartbeat ago shifting.

Kiara kneels on the edge of the bed, her hands reaching out with preamble. Instantly, her fingers brush against the cut on his skull, leaving a stinging pain.

“Can you guys stop doing that?” JJ says through clenched teeth.

Still not addressing him and still prodding him, Kie asks, “How bad?”

Pope doesn’t respond, staying absolutely silent long enough that Kiara whips her head around to face him and repeats her question.

He hesitates. “He doesn’t remember last night.”

Her mouth drops open, looking between the boys. Kie gets off the bed, joining Pope where he hovers by the wall.

“Are you serious?” Finally talking to JJ, Kiara says, “So you don’t know…”

“Know what?” JJ doesn’t care how much fear he’s letting slip into his voice, his desperation for answers outweighing any need to keep his mask up. “Guys, come on, you’re really freaking me out. Just tell me what happened.”

Pope and Kiara share a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Eventually, Kie retakes her place on the edge of the bed next to JJ, laying a gentle hand just above his knee in an attempt to be comforting.

JJ’s heart starts to race, hundreds of scenarios speeding through his mind. Until, finally, fucking finally his dizzy mind pieces together the obvious clues laid out before him.

“John B… where is he?”

Silence.

“Guys— ” his eyes dart back and forth, fear making his blood run cold — “where is he?”

He tries desperately to grasp onto his last memory, forcing it to stay, to clear long enough so he can understand what he’s missing.

He’d gotten the keys to the Phantom for John B, he was going to flee that state. JJ remembers ripping the chain from his dad’s drunk body — wilfully ignoring what he had said a moment before — remembers the final send off to John B.

And… nothing. A storm was coming in but John B would’ve avoided it, he knew better than to risk it.

Right?

“JJ,” Kie whispers, her voice failing her as tears begin to stream down her cheeks, “he — he didn’t—”

“Shut up.”

Pope continues, “He and Sarah, they — they got ran into a storm and—”

“No,” JJ shouts. “Shut up, you — you’re wrong.”

Kie’s hand starts to rub his leg and he pulls away from the touch, lip curling in anger. Even as a sob escapes her lips, it does nothing to quell the defensive rage burning inside him.

They’re lying. They have to be.

John B can’t be — he’s not… no.

“He’s gone, JJ,” Pope says, his own cheeks becoming stained with tears.

JJ draws his knees to his chest, pulling as far away from Kiara as he can. This can’t be happening. It just can’t.

This has to be a dream. He’s dreaming, surely, and soon, he’ll wake up — probably somewhere in John B’s house, and the two of them will go out surfing and fishing and everything will be fine.

JJ just needs to wake up.

He needs… he needs air. He can’t breathe. Pope’s and Kiara’s gazes are suffocating him, drowning him in the sheer intensity — even in this dream state.

Even with his limbs feeling heavy and flimsy, JJ drags himself up, dodging past his friends, and stumbles his way outside. Fighting through a fresh wave of dizziness, JJ finds himself in Pope’s backyard.

The fresh air does little to help him. Painful nausea threatens to bring fresh vomit up his throat.

“JJ,” Pope calls behind him, “stop.”

He won’t listen. Nothing matters here — he needs to wake up, needs for this nightmare to be over because John B can’t — can’t be dead.

His best third since third fucking grade can’t be dead. He wouldn’t do that to JJ, wouldn’t leave him like that.

JJ falls to his knees, scraping his bare skin against concrete. And yet, the pain doesn’t even register.

John B’s not dead. He’s not. He’s not. He’s —

Arms wrap around JJ’s shoulders, holding him tightly. Kiara’s got a grip on him and won’t let go, Pope quickly follows suit.

And JJ feels himself crumbling, far too reminiscent of the other night — falling into millions of pieces in the arms of his friends. Waiting. Praying. Begging for John B to come. To hold him together like he had all these years.

The only thing JJ’s come to trust, blindly and wholeheartedly, is the fact that John B will always be there — with open arms and an open door.

Always.

But now — oh God, this is real, this is happening.

His best friend, his brother, the first person to actually care and love JJ, he’s gone.

He’s dead.

JJ’s alone. Pope and Kiara can never make up for what John B was and did for JJ — the safety and comfort he offered without question is irreplaceable.

For the first since third grade, since some kid thought JJ was worth the time of day, JJ feels utterly and completely alone.


End file.
